


The Captain's Daughter

by greenmountaingirl



Series: The Captain's Daughter [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Abuse, F/M, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 04:54:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17053538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenmountaingirl/pseuds/greenmountaingirl
Summary: Specific thanks again to Tinamour for her help on the final letter. Translation is here:Letter in EnglishMy dear Jean Armand,As you read these words, I will be far from you. I married the Earl and I go with him to England today. My time with you brought me more joy than I had ever hoped to experience.Never doubt my love. Never.Your,ChloePart II is being worked on... ish... If I ever finish it I will publish it here.





	1. The Garrison and the Palace

**Musketeers Garrison**

**Paris, 1617**

“Mail!” 

The letters sailed through the door and landed on the garret room floor. Treville grinned as de Foix pounced on them. De Foix was devoted to his family and waited anxiously for any scrap of news from home.  Trevill continued sharpening his gauche - mail call had little interest for a man who had no one to write. 

“Lucie! She’s here!” Treville looked up; de Foix’s face lit with glee. “I have a baby sister - little Lucie!” De Foix hauled Treville to his feet and clapped him on the shoulders; “We must celebrate!” De Foix marched out the door, not waiting to see if his best friend followed. Treville smirked and gathered the rest of his weapons. They clattered down the stairs and into the stables, de Foix crowed about his brand new sister to anyone who would pretend to listen. 

“Treville! De Foix!” The sharp shout from the Captain halted them in their tracks. “Ready yourselves for guard duty at the Louvre.”

“But Captain -” 

“De Foix, I ordered you to the Louvre. And ready yourselves for a good long stay.” 

“Captain! Surely -”

Treville left de Foix to argue. He was always fighting the Captain on the simplest things; he was lucky he got his spurs at all with his tendency to disregard orders. And Treville could only exert so much civilizing influence over his friend. 

Treville found de Foix still fuming in the stables. His good humor from learning of his sister had evaporated at the assignment of guard duty. Treville couldn’t help but smirk at de Foix’s stormy countenance. He had always had a flair for the dramatic. Whether it was women or war plans - de Foix was always the hothead of the pair. 

They made their way out into Paris, greeted by the usual stench and mess of the rotting market food and overpopulated buildings. After they rode a while, Treville could no longer stand the silence, “Captain say who we are guarding?” 

“Apparently, some English royalty is visiting.” De Foix’s voice dripped with disdain and boredom. He detested guard duty. He found it to be a waste of his talents. “An engagement to some northern lord’s girl.” 

Treville shifted in his saddle. He didn’t mind guard duty. While it could be terribly boring, he enjoyed Little Louis and it was an excuse to check on the young prince’s progress with a blade. “At least we don’t have to go to Fontainebleau.” De Foix grunted and nodded. “Any idea which lord is auctioning off his daughter?”

“The Marquis de Chevalier.”

 

 

**Louvre Palace**

The taste of bile lingered on Chloé’s tongue and threatened to make her retch again; cold sweat dripped under her bodice and made the layers of fabric stick and pinch at her skin. 

“Mistress, are you alright? You are expected in the throne room now,” the maid’s voice called from outside the bathing chamber. 

Chloé pushed herself to standing, black spots dancing before her eyes from the effort. She breathed deeply and clutched her fingers in a vain effort to hide their shaking. 

“I am ready.” 

Chloé followed the maid down the wide pearl-colored steps as she tried not to trip on her hem. The opulence of the Louvre was to be expected but the written accounts had been woefully inadequate. The walls were pure marble and the sunlight filtered through all the windows making everything look like it had been touched by faeries. 

“Please try to keep up,  _ mademoiselle _ .” Chloé started at the maid’s voice and tried to catch up. “Through here,  _ s'il vous plaît _ .” The doors were thrown wide open and the crowd of milling nobles pressed towards the door, vying to be first. The maid curtseyed and abandoned Chloé to the swelling crowd without another word. 

“Her Royal Highness the Queen Regent Marie de Medici.” The voice boomed from the side of the throne, silence immediately reigned as Marie de Medici stalked through the room; she took her time to settle to create the perfect picture of wealth and power before waving the herald to continue.

Time moved slowly, Chloé clenched her hands in her skirt to stop trembling. The crowd’s distinct cloud of barely veiled body odor and perfume thinning as the courtiers were announced. Chloé could clearly see her father along the windows, guffawing at some lord’s pretty flattery. He looked so handsome and charming in his resplendent green doublet. She watched him from afar and could see why people believed him to be so charismatic. She only felt sicker knowing he would be watching.  

“The Lady Chloé de Chevalier of Alsace.” The herald’s voice broke into her thoughts. She could feel the collective gaze of the crowd fall on her. The courtiers had surely already heard all about her - arriving at court for her first time, with an enormous dowery and the rumor of her pending engagement. 

The thick carpet muted her footsteps as she approached the raised seat of the Queen Regent. She could feel her breath coming in shallow gasps; the fluttering in her chest as panic rose through her abdomen. The familiar sensation of drowning as her vision narrowed. Her knees shook as she curtseyed deeply. 

“My, aren’t you a striking young woman.” Marie de Medici’s voice cut at Chloé, so cold that there might as well have been shards of ice sliding down her back. 

“ _ Merci _ , Your Majesty.” Chloé’s voice was small; timid even to her own ears. She could feel the overbearing presence of her father approaching behind her, his sweaty hand landing heavily on her shoulder. 

“Well, Marquis, you have done well for yourself. She doesn’t  _ sound  _ like she has been buried in the country.” There were titters behind fans and Chloé could feel the flush creep up her chest. 

Her father chuckled good-naturedly, “Your Majesty, I take little credit. That is what nannies and tutors are for after all.” The fear climbed through Chloé’s chest as the queen let out a blatantly false laugh and waved them away. 

The Herald called the next visitor forward and Chloé made her way to edges of the room. Her father stopped to talk to some friend of his and Chloé used it as an opportunity to find a window. Slowly, painfully, she inched her way through the crowd to the hall; she pushed open the window. Chloé breathed in the fresh air. Her vision started to clear, the panic no longer boiling beneath the surface. The crowd behind her shifted and quipped with each other. The well-heeled sycophants surrounding the Regent were all exactly where they wanted to be; their obvious enjoyment only made Chloé more aware of her own oppressive loneliness.

Chloé looked out over the gardens as the sun-dappled the grass between the leaves and the gentle breeze bounced through the summer blooms; her heart ached to return to Alsace. 

Fingers cut into her upper arm as her father jerked her down the hall and away from her reverie. “What is wrong with you?” Her father’s fingers dug in deeper, “The Queen still has to approve this engagement and she won’t do that if you seem sickly or weak minded.” 

“Father -” 

“The Duke will arrive soon and I expect you to be on better behavior. I will say that you are still tired from travelling and that tomorrow you will be better.” Chloé nodded and her father pushed her away. As she made her way back through the hall, Chloé only hoped that the weather would be cool enough to wear a shawl to hide the bruise that had already started to form on her arm.

 


	2. Midnight in the Garden

**The Palace Gardens**

**Later That Same Night**

Despite the comfort and luxury of the bedding, Chloé had given up on sleep hours ago.  She listened to the the noises and bustle of Paris were only slightly quieter despite the late hour, it made her ache for the silence of home. Chloé stared at the ceiling and sighed as she threw back the duvet. She winced as her bare feet touched the cold stone floor; walked to lean against windowsill. Chloé gazed down upon one of the many gardens, the moonlight bathing everything in a mystical combination of shadows and light. The curtains danced in the cool breeze and Chloé could feel goosebumps rise on her bare arms. She looked around at the cavernous room felt constrained, suffocated, and before she could second guess her decision, she pulled on her simplest gown and left seeking a moment of freedom. 

The air was cool and fragrant as she stepped into the lush garden, Chloé breathed deep - revelling in the fresh smell of open blooms and freshly turned earth. Scents that reminded her of her mother. Of her soft, melancholy smile. Of her long dark hair and thin, nimble fingers. 

The pebbles cut through her soft slippers as she wandered through the dark. Her fingers tangled in her shawl, pulling it tighter around her shoulders. The stars danced above her as she wandered aimlessly and revelled in the peace that she craved to her very soul.

 

**The Palace Gardens Patrol**

Since they had arrived at the Louvre, Treville had stood through three hours of painfully boring introductions of visiting courtiers, heard pleas of rural landowners, and stood in a corner until his eyes crossed with boredom. He couldn’t admit it to de Foix, but he was right. This was going to be a long guard duty assignment. 

After the introductions and the endless dinner had broken up and Treville had been sent on patrol. The gardens were vast and he had walked only a quarter of them when he heard the unmistakable sound of another person walking. It couldn’t be de Foix, he had taken the path that passed the stables and gatehouse. Without further ado, Treville pulled out and cocked his pistol, as he leaned deeper into the shadow cast by the hedge behind him. Whoever they were, they were not moving fast but were light on their feet. The familiar tingle of excitement and adrenaline energizing his body. 

Before the intruder could scream, Treville had wrapped his hand around their mouth and pushed the pistol against their low back.  

“Who are you?” He growled as the intruder struggled in his grasp, “What are you doing on the grounds of the Louvre?” His voice was low but the command was clear. 

The body pressed against his was small and started to shake. They pushed feebly against his arm in an effort to loosen his grip. Their teeth gnashed at his hand and he winced as they made contact through his gloves. He shook the small captive, “Don’t make me ask again.” The intruder’s chest heaved as Treville released their mouth. 

“I was just walking. I am staying at the palace,” She gasped to catch her breath.

Treville’s grip on her midriff loosened.  _ A woman? _

“My father is the Marquis de Chevalier.” Treville whirled her around but kept ahold of her arm. Her face was flushed. Her dark hair was long and rumpled around her face. “And who are you,  _ monsieur _ ?” Her attempt to sound haughty and tough fell flat but Treville heard the recrimination. 

Treville recognized her from her introduction to court this afternoon. Her dark hair had been piled on top of her head and her body altered with corsets and layers of heavy fabric but he could tell from her diminutive stature and northern accent that  she was unmistakably the Lady Chloé. 

He cleared his throat and dropped his hand from her arm, “ _ Pardon _ , I am terribly sorry.”  She pulled away and put the width of the path between them. “I am the Musketeer Treville,” he bowed, “I was entrusted with guarding the palace gardens this evening.” She straightened her shawl but said nothing, her skin so pale she nearly glowed in the moonlight. “You should not be out here,  _ mademoiselle _ .”

“I am aware of that, sir, but I just wanted to take a walk.” She sounded defensive. Embarrassed. “I am sure I am safe within the palace walls. Isn’t that why you are here?” The challenge in her words hit their mark. 

Treville shifted uncomfortably. She sounded so trusting, so young.“Yes, but there are always threats.” She looked at her feet and said nothing. “May I escort you back to your rooms?” She nodded still not looking at him. He holstered his forgotten pistol and waved her back towards the Palace. 

They walked along in a stiff silence. In the moonlight, it was impossible to determine the color of her dark eyes but Treville has an intense, irrational urge to find out. 

She was the first one to the break the silence, “I am the Lady Chloé de Chevalier.” Her voice was soft and distinctly upper class.

“I am aware.” She shot a glance at him. “I saw you at Court this afternoon.” She nodded, her pulse still beating so hard he could see her throat jump in the starlight.

Treville could see the door to the east wing ahead when he realized Lady Chloé had stopped walking. He looked back to see her looking up at the sky. Completely still and staring at the stars. 

“My lady? We really should keep moving. You shouldn’t be found out here alone.” 

“I know. I just wanted to see the stars. They seem so much closer out here.” She didn’t move. Just kept looking. “My mother loved the stars. It makes me feel close to her.” 

“Is she not at court with you?” 

“She died when I was a child.” Treville didn’t know what to say. Being a bastard, he had never known any family other than the Musketeers; missing a mother seemed far more tragic than not having one. She looked down from the sky, meeting his eyes for the first time all evening. His chest seized at the look on her face. Pure sadness and longing fractured her eyes. Then she blinked and it was gone. 

“This way,  _ mademoiselle _ .” It was all he could think to say. Lady Chloé walked beside him; taking two steps to every one of his. Finally, they arrived at the guest quarters. “You should be safe from here.” His voice rough and low. “Please don’t go wandering off into the night anymore.”

“ _ Merci _ , Musketeer Treville.” She met his eyes again and he realized her eyes were the same shade of cobalt as a summer sky. Bright enough even to see in the dim light of the wall sconces, “Good night.”

Treville watched her walk down the hall, feeling somehow stranded between wanting her to turn and look back at him or never see her again. 

  
  
  



	3. Glimpses

**The Gardens of the Louvre Palace**

**Midmorning**

“Are you listening, Treville?” De Foix stopped speaking and shoved Treville’s shoulder.

“Of course.” Treville continued to stare at a solitary figure some distance away on a stone bench.

“Really? You were listening to the joke about the prostitute and the priest?”

Treville didn’t look at him, “It was hilarious.” De Foix scoffed. 

It had been days since Treville had escorted Lady Chloé back to her rooms; since then, he had glimpsed her only briefly in corridors or at dinners. She looked ill at ease at the best of times and completely out of place at others. Now as he watched her, all he could see was the gentle smile on her face and the obvious enjoyment she had at whatever she was reading. 

“Is that her then?” 

Treville stiffened and wrenched his gaze away, “Is that who?” 

“The Lady Chloé de Chevalier.” 

“I have no idea.” 

De Foix laughed, “You could go speak to her, you know. There is no law against it.” Treville rolled his eyes and started walking again. “I mean, she is very pretty and I am sure she isn’t told that nearly enough.” Treville’s hands clenched into fists but he said nothing - de Foix had always known how to tease him. “Well if you aren’t going over there… I might as well make sure she is feeling welcome here in Paris.” 

De Foix’s chatter ended abruptly as Treville turned and shoved him against the nearest column. “Ah. I see you do like the beautiful young  _ mademoiselle _ ,” de Foix choked out as Treville’s grip of his collar tightened. 

Treville dropped him and turned around to look at Lady Chloé again. The sunlight shone on her dark hair making it look almost auburn in places. “Jean Armand,” The use of his first name made him look back at de Foix, “go talk to her.” He said nothing else and sauntered off, stealing an apple from a nearby tree on his way. 

Treville shook his head at his best friend but decided he might as well take his advice and approached her slowly. She was poured over the book, biting her lip and smiling a little. It was entirely too fetching a face to be shared with a book. 

“Bonjour  _ Mademoiselle _ ,” He tried to sound like he had not been watching her across the garden. 

She looked up, her eyes shining in the morning light. “ _ Bonjour _ , Musketeer Treville.” She stood to curtsy as he inclined his head. 

“It is a lovely morning.” Treville looked at his worn and dusty boots.  _ Really, Jean Armand? The weather. If de Foix could hear you now.  _

“It is. I am afraid I am still on country hours and rise much earlier than the other members of the court.” Her voice was light in tone but Treville heard the embarrassment rooted in her words.

Her dress didn’t help. It was a simple pale blue gown that showed off her creamy skin and was a few shades lighter than her bright eyes. No heavy jewels, no shiny pins or perfumes. It did not reveal her more feminine charms as many court women were more likely to do. Her hair was in a simple braided crown but Treville couldn’t help but miss her messy unbound hair from their midnight introduction. 

“Do you enjoy reading?” 

Chloé looked down and smiled, “I do. Very much.” 

“Is the library here keeping you well entertained then?”

“As entertained as I am allowed.” She looked around the garden. “My father does not appreciate my appetite for the written word.” 

Treville nodded, “It must be unusual for your gender.”

“I have found that to be true,” Her mouth twisted and Treville felt his heart twist with it. 

“Chloé!” Chloé’s face blanched as the shout rang across the garden. An imposing figure stood in the shade of the portico.

“ _ Je devrais partir _ .” She closed her book and rushed towards her father. Just as she  reached the shade of the portico she looked back and smiled slightly.

Treville smiled so much that day that de Foix was convinced he had completely lost his mind. 

  
  


**Stable Yard**

**Late Afternoon**

Chloé walked across the sun-warmed bricks towards the stables. She had overheard about a shortcut to the maze yesterday from a southern lord’s wife who used it for her more illicit rendezvous. Chloé just wanted to get out of the palace and find a quiet bench to read on. Her arm was still sore from three days ago when her father had found her reading before breakfast. 

Chloé peeked around the corner of the stable and saw the gate she needed to get through. Only a few guards and a Musketeer between her and the blessed quiet beyond. 

“Well fought, Your Majesty.” It was Treville and a small boy who must be Louis, the future king of France.  “Remember to keep your weight balanced. Light on your toes.” 

The little boy’s face screwed up in the effort and he thrust forward. Treville just caught him before he crashed into the bricks. “There you go, Your Majesty,” Chloé watched as he set Louis back on his feet. The sun glinted off Treville’s light hair; he looked young and kind. Nothing like the stiff and stilted presence from their first introduction. “That is enough for today. Why don’t you go ask Cook for a biscuit?”

The little boy scampered off and Treville turned back towards the stable. Chloé took her chance to run to the gate. Once through the entrance to the maze and she couldn’t resist looking back only to find that Treville had observed her mad dash and was still following her with his intense gaze and a slight grin pulling at his lips.

  
  


**Reception Chamber**

**Late Evening**

Treville sliced off another wedge of the apple and continued contemplating the striking - if petite - figure that was Lady Chloé in her cobalt blue velvet ball gown. He hadn’t seen her in a few days but knew that the Englishman’s arrival was marked today so she must have  been busy with the preparations for that. 

De Foix sidled up to him adjusting his tunic and snatching a piece of apple, “Ah, let me guess…” he swallowed, “you are once again watching the lovely Lady Chloé. If I didn’t know you better, Treville, I would think you are pining.”

Treville shifted his weight and stuffed his knife back in its sheath, “I am surveilling. We are on  _ duty _ not on  _ court ladies _ .”

De Foix choked back a laugh, “My, my, we are rather sensitive this evening.” 

Treville had no defense and just continued to gaze towards the woman that was making him this high-strung. Lady Chloé was slowly promenating through the crowd on the arm of a kindly looking man old enough to be her grandfather. 

“That the betrothed?” 

Trevilled nodded once, “Apparently he is an Earl.”

De Foix  let out a snort or a cough, it was hard to tell which, “English though?” Treville allowed himself a chuckle in response. 

Lady Chloé was tiring, Treville could see it even from his post, her shoulders were beginning to sag. Treville longed to go and - what? Comfort her? Offer to take her away from all this? There was nothing in his duties as a royal Musketeer that would allow for such things. 

De Foix looked around the room, shot a wink and a grin at a passing matron, “Still - hope they get that wedding date set so we can get back to the real action,” Treville could feel de Foix’s heavy gaze on him as he spoke. “Won’t that be nice?” 

Treville didn’t answer and found himself wondering for the first if that was all he would ever have. A different assignment, a different fight. And noone to call his own. 

****

**The Walking Path**

**Early Morning**

The gravel made a comforting crunch underfoot as Chloé walked through the crisp morning air. It felt almost like home, not quite as clean or fresh but cool enough to be soothing. Even after nearly a month in Paris, Chloé had still not adapted to the late night revelry or the tendency to sleep away the days. 

She heard footsteps ahead, heavy and booted. After being found by Treville in the garden that night, Chloé had been more careful during her late night and early morning wanderings. She slowed her progress and found a small alcove to hide in. The figure passed by, rumpled and tired looking. But unmistakably the Musketeer Treville. 

“ _ Bonjour monsieur _ .” She stepped out behind him and he spun to face her, hand going automatically to the hilt of his rapier. 

“My lady,” he took a deep breath and bowed. “I am sorry to say you startled me.” 

“I apologize, it was not my intention.” She felt the blush climb up her chest. Glancing around she said the first thing that came to mind, “Another beautiful morning.”

“That it is, my lady.” His voice sounded rougher than usual. His shoulders sagging under some invisible weight.

“Are you alright, Musketeer?” 

He sighed, shifted his weight and rolled his shoulders, “Of course, my lady. Just tired, is all. I am afraid I drew the short straw and had a long night shift that is just ending.” 

Chloé had no idea what to say to this. It may be the longest statement he had made in her presence. “Well, I was just finishing a walk in the garden…” She looked around. “Would you like to accompany me back to the castle?” 

He paused, “It would be my pleasure, my lady.”

As they walked, a companionable silence stretched between them, the only sound the rattle of Treville’s weapons and their footsteps. A peacock wailed in the distance. Chloé giggled and Treville smirked. 

“I find peafowl to be terribly silly. All that noise and strutting around.” Treville’s smirk turned into a small smile and Lady Chloé grinned in response. “Not all that different from the men at the castle either.” At this Treville lets out a startled, rusty laugh, and Chloé felt some small victory had been won.

He regarded her, “Are you not enjoying Paris, my lady?”

“I haven’t really seen any of Paris. Just the Palace and Notre-Dame.”

“Well, most of Paris is not as beautiful as all that.” He gestured vaguely. “There are some interesting parts of the city but I am not sure that I would advise you to go looking. I already found you wandering in the middle of the night alone.” The sideways look he shot her made her laugh. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had made her laugh 

They approached the gate that led to the stables. Chloé knew she would have to say goodbye soon but couldn’t help but want to extend this suspended moment with this serious, mysterious Musketeer. “Do you live far from here?” 

Treville shook his head, “No, just a short ride away. We have a garrison in the city.”

“Are you from Paris, then?” Chloé stopped to look at him. 

Treville didn’t look at her as he answered. “Yes, I grew up here.”  He looked towards the gatehouse, Chloé could see that another Musketeer was waiting there. 

“Is that your replacement?” 

“De Foix is here for the day.” He shifted his weight again and seemed agitated. “I will return this evening for the ball though. The Queen requested more Musketeers than usual because of the ball this evening.”

“Well, I shall see you then…” Chloé trailed off. “ _ Reposez-vous bien, Mousquetaire. _ ” As she walked away she could feel the weight of his stare on her back. 

 

**Louvre Ballroom**

**Late That Night**

The colors of the courtiers swirled before his eyes, blurred into an endless wave of wealth and privilege. Treville grinned to himself, Chloé had been right - Court was full of peacocks. 

“Well…” de Foix drawled beside him, “still enjoying guard duty?” 

Treville ignored him and resettled himself against the wall and tried to avoid openly ogling Chloé.  _ Lady _ Chloé. 

She was a point of stillness pulled at him like true north to a compass needle. Her raven hair was pinned and pulled back from her face in a complicated coiffure on her head. She had obviously been instructed to put on a show this evening. Her dress was the finest that Treville had seen on her and garish emeralds and diamonds heavy enough to crush her shimmered on her throat. 

“You cannot seriously be watching her again,” de Foix drawled. 

Treville’s face burned, “I was just-.” 

“It is not going to end well, you know.” De Foix’s voice suddenly serious. “Just a fling is one thing. There are plenty of bored and wandering matrons at court from which to choose a sporting bed partner. But Lady Chloé de Chevalier is an innocent. An innocent about to be married off. And this will only end badly for both of you.” 

Treville’s shoulders stiffened, “Weren’t you just telling me to talk to her?” 

“Flirting and talking is one thing.” De Foix scanned the room, deliberately not looking at Treville. “You don’t look at her as if you want to spend an evening with her. You look at her as though you feel for her. And that can only end poorly - for both of you.” Treville turned to respond but de Foix had already melted into the crowd.  

Treville’s neck burned with irritation and embarrassment. He needed action. He needed to move, to fight so that he wasn’t - as de Foix would not doubt notice - sitting here staring at Chloé.  He scanned the crowd again and found de Foix with an older matron backing into a more private corner. He looked away in disgust as an unfamiliar wave of jealousy flooded his bloodstream. 

Inevitably, his eyes found their way back to  _ her _ . She was looking at him. Her intense gaze froze him in place. Her lips twitched in an almost smile and he couldn’t help but mimic her movement. 

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Court,” The Herald’s voice rang through the room. The silence was astounding after the hubbub of moments before. “Her Majesty Queen Regent Marie de Medici wishes to make an announcement.” 

“I wish to announce a new age of peace and cooperation between England and France!” The crowd cheered and raised glasses to toast the queen. “To seal this excellent new treaty, the young King Louis and I have decided to seal our newfound peace with a series of marriages.” The audience twittered, “The first is that the young and dear, Princess Henrietta Maria, is officially betrothed to the future king of England-” a small smattering of applause accompanied this announcement, “Today though, we celebrate the engagement of the incomparable Lady Chloé de Chevalier to the esteemed Earl of Shrewsbury.” 

Treville didn’t hear the reaction of the courtiers just stared as her face drained of all color frozen in a gruesome imitation of a smile. The Earl and her father half escorted and half dragged her to the center of the room. As the men basked in the attention, Chloé looked never more fragile or alone. Treville was halfway across the room, swimming through the crowd before de Foix grabbed him. 

“What are you doing?” His ferocious whisper cut through the bustle and crush of bodies around them. “You knew this was coming. You knew why she was here.” 

Treville struggled against de Foix’s hold in an attempt to get closer to Chloé. She was pinned between her father and her newly minted fiancé, her face a bloodless mask. 

“Leave,” De Foix pushed him towards the nearest door, “You can’t be here.” Treville watched Chloé search for a port from the storm of the room. Finally she found him and Treville held her gaze, as de Foix dragged him and forced him farther from her. 

The Earl leaned down and said something to her; Chloé didn’t respond, her eyes oddly glazed. Without warning she collapsed, disappearing from view and Treville could do nothing to stop it as he was dragged away. 

  
  



	4. Ballgowns and Beatings

**Chloè’s Bedchamber**

**After the Ball**

Stars danced before her eyes and blood trickled from where the corner of the wall had split her scalp. Chloè had known that the beating was inescapable after she fainted. Her father’s worst fear was that her hysterics as he called them, would be noticed. Her nervousness in public, her fear of groups - all the idiosyncrasies that she had inherited from her fragile mother. Her father hated all of them. And would vent his frustration on her physical being. 

His right fist cocked back for the next blow; it caught her on the cheek bone and his ring sliced through her skin. Chloè ducked to avoid the next blow as his left fist smashed into the wall. 

“You little bitch!” He roared as she scrambled away from him, the salt of her tears sting as they leaked into the cut the cut on her cheek. 

Chloè gasped as her father’s fist twisted in her hair and pulled her to standing.“Please F-F-Father -” 

“Do you know what you have done?” He leaned in and Chloè saw the spittle clinging to his lips. His voice dropped in volume but not its menacing tone, “Do you know how much the estate needs that money?” He shook her, Chloè could feel strands of  hair loosen from her scalp. “Your feeble mother couldn’t produce a son and now we are near ruin with no heir in sight. The Earl had promised to bail us out in time for me to marry again - in exchange for a healthy young bride.”

Chloè could feel her legs shake, fear and pain coursing through her and making it hard to think. She pulled back deep into her mind - anything to distance herself from the situation. Incomplete thoughts raced through her mind: the smell of countryside, her mother’s laugh, the warmth of sunlight on her bare skin- 

“It is bad enough you prefer to read over the entertainment of court but now  _ fainting? _ ” her father’s voice is laced with venom as shear forces him to meet his eyes. 

“I am sorry, Father,” Chloè’s croaked. The blood trickled off her cheek and pooled beneath the edge of her bodice

He huffed and dropped her, the fight over, Chloè suitably chastised in his mind; “Be sure to seem ill tomorrow and start to get better the day after. The Earl is a far kinder man than I and says that he understands that young girls can be fragile when faced with such excitement.” He spat out the last words, compassion a bitter taste on his tongue. 

The door slammed behind him and finally Chloè sank to the floor. She did nothing to stem the flow of tears and watched the shadows shifted with the moonlight. Chloè lost track of how long she was there. The gash on her face had clotted and her head ached from where it had hit the wall. 

She wished she was home, she would go to the housekeeper and who would clean her up and not ask too many questions. Just as the housekeeper had done for Chloè’s mother. But her maid here would gossip or report to her father that she had asked for help, neither of which would help her situation. 

Chloè pushed herself to standing and walked to the mirror, even in the darkened bedroom she could see that there would be a bruise on her cheek. The blood that had dripped to her neck stained the edge of her frock. There was only one person in Paris she could really turn to but she would have to brave the streets at night. Alone. Chloè’s lips twitched, beaten bloody and in a ruined ball gown, _ what an absurd time to feel brave.  _

 

It was just past midnight and the stairs were quiet as Chloè crept her way to the side entrance of the palace. She did not actually know where the garrison was but Treville had said it wasn’t too far from the Louvre so she would just slip out of the palace and into the city and ask someone. It couldn’t be that difficult to find. 

The door that lead to the stables opened and Chloè pressed in to the nearest alcove as the drunken courtiers meandered past. Chloè took advantage of their noise to open the heavy door and slide into the dark. The stables were cast in pools of dancing light thrown from the torches, Chloè could ride but asking for a horse was bound to bring questions that she couldn’t otherwise answer. 

The next obstacle was the guard house, Chloè could hear low male voices and laughter.  _ If I look like I know where I am going, I can just walk through. They aren’t there to keep anyone in but to keep the public out.  _ Chloè breathed deeply as she tried to blend in with the crowd, head held high no one questioned her exit. 

The streets were surprisingly full as she made her way through the lanes. Catcalls and offers of an evening entertainment followed her aimless progress through the streets, Chloè tramped down her rising panic. Her scheme seeming more and more ill conceived the further into the Parisian streets she ventured. The night air was cool but rife with the stench of open sewage and unwashed bodies.  

_ There!  _ The unmistakable  _ fleur de lis _ of the garrison - “Musketeer!” Her cry stopped him short and he turned, a dark bottle nearly to his lips. Chloè made her way to him, “Musketeer, could you show me the way to the garrison?”

“ _ Mademoiselle, _ ” he bowed with a flourish. “Can I not assist you? The garrison is not a suitable environ for a young woman.” 

“ _ Merci _ , but I require one of your compatriots.” Chloè was reluctant to elaborate further to such a flamboyant stranger in the middle of the street. “He is a… friend of sorts.”

His shrewd gaze measured her up, his mouth twisted in a wry grin; “You are the Lady Chloè de Chevalier, are you not?” 

Chloè cleared her throat, “Well, yes. I am. How did you know that?” 

“Come with me, I will take you to the Musketeer Treville,” without waiting to see if she followed, he strode off through the crowd in the opposite way Chloè had been walking. They did not walk for long when they came to a large stone archway and a courtyard that was well lived in. It smelled of leather, horses and begrimed men.

De Foix stopped, “If you could put your hood up, my lady?” Chloè wasn’t sure why but obeyed and followed him up a worn set of wooden steps and around the balcony. He didn’t knock on the door but just went in and invited her in after him. Shutting the door smartly behind him.

Treville was in his shirtsleeves, jacket tossed over a thin cot. He didn’t look up, “De Foix, did you really have to bring your current lover here?” 

De Foix rolled his eyes and gestured to Chloè, “I found someone wandering in the streets looking for you it seems.” She lowered her hood as Treville stood up and crossed the small room to her. De Foix cleared his throat, “I am apparently not at all that important any longer…” his words here light but there was a strange warning in his tone that didn’t make sense to Chloè. 

Trevill ran his eyes looking over her pale face, Chloè’s voice cracked, “I didn’t know where else to go.”

  
  
  


After de Foix had dragged him away from the engagement announcement, Treville had shook off his friend and made his way to the garrett alone. He stumbled in to the nearest bar and bought a bottle of wine. By the time de Foix banged open the door to their room with a woman in tow, Treville was well and truly sunk in a melancholic haze from a combination of the poor vintage of wine and thoughts of the lovely Lady Chloè - and in no mood for de Foix’s poor decisions. 

“De Foix, did you really have to bring your current lover here?” His voice is rough from the hours of silent contemplation. 

“I found someone wandering in the streets looking for you it seems.” Treville couldn’t believe his eyes, he crossed to her in only two steps.  “I am apparently not at all that important any longer…” De Foix trailed off as Treville contemplated hitting his best friend. 

“I didn’t know where else to go.” Her voice instantly sobered him but not nearly as much and the cuts and bruises on her face. Treville wanted to reach out and touch her. Assure himself that she wasn’t some alcohol-induced hallucination. 

“What happened?” Chloè flinched at his sharp tone. He softened his voice and tried again. “I am sorry, my lady, please sit.” He guided her to the lone chair he had just vacated. “What happened? Who did this to you?” Flashes of her alone in the street after dark being assaulted by all manner of miscreant made Treville ill. 

“It was my father,” her voice was devoid of emotion.  _ I will kill him,  _ is all that Treville could think. She continued, tears welled in her eyes, “I am fine. I think. I just… ” her voice trailed off. 

De Foix cleared his throat, “I will fetch something for her wounds. And maybe some food and wine?” Treville nodded absently as de Foix left. 

Treville kneeled down in front of Chloè, completely at a loss as to what to say to her. He untied her cloak and untangled her from it. Gently pushing the hair out of her face, “Are you hurt anywhere else?” He kept his voice low, trying not to command her in any way.

She nodded gently, “I hit my head.” The raven strands were too dark to show the blood but were matted against her scalp.

“How did you get here?”

“I went out the side door of the palace. And then wandered until I found your friend -” she gestured vaguely.

“De Foix.”

“ _ Oui _ , and then I came here.” She heaved a deep breath, her shoulders and chest rose and fell dramatically “I was feeling so brave…” she tried to smile, “but now that I am here… I am not sure what to do.”

De Foix came back carrying clean rags, some bread and wine. “Do you require anything else?” His tone was efficient but Treville could tell he struggled not to do or say something rash. Treville didn’t look at him, just shook his head. De Foix bowed slightly to Chloè, “I will stay with the recruits tonight.” The door shut softly behind him. 

Treville poured wine and handed it to Chloè, then started to clean her face with a dampened rag. Despite his gentleness, she winced here and there sending rushes of guilt and anger through Treville’s belly.  _ How could anyone hurt someone so gentle? _ He worked in silence as she nibbled on the bread and drank the wine. As he tried to comb the blood from her hair he couldn’t help but relish the slide of the silk between his calloused fingers while he probed through the tresses for a cut. It was a small wound and didn’t require stitches. 

Chloè put down the wine glass and Treville crouched in front of her again. The candlelight played off her pale skin and dark hair, it made her look like some fallen angel here to haunt him. Her eyes searched his face and he couldn’t help reaching for her hand. It was small like the rest of her, long delicate fingers and perfectly manicured nails. She twined her fingers between his and made his heart skip a beat and at the intimate contact.

“Thank you.” Treville could only nod in response, reluctant to break the spell of her being here. She looked around the small room and he wondered what she saw. Did she pity his meagre existence? Did she want to return to the austere perfection of the palace? He looked down at their interlaced fingers, “What is your name?” 

“Treville.” He knew what she was asking but knew answering would make her want to kiss him all the more. He could feel her breath brush across his lips, almost able to taste her sweetness.

She gently shook her eye, never breaking eye contact. “What is your Christian name?”

“Jean Armand.” His voice was low, barely discernible even in the silence.

“Jean Armand.” She repeated. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. Her proper accented voice saying his bastard name. “You were watching me tonight, Jean Armand.” It wasn’t a question and he didn’t answer, “Why were you watching me?” 

Treville didn’t bother to obfuscate, “I had never seen anyone so beautiful look so sad.” Treville could feel the heat of her skin as she leaned closer. He mirrored her movement, she smelled like lavender and the coppery tang of blood left from her wounds. 

“Why did you leave?”

“Leave?” 

“At the ball, when I… fainted. You left.” 

Jean Armand felt a strange pressure under his breastbone, “De Foix made me leave with him when I tried to get through the crowd to you. I was…” he paused, already having revealed so much, “I was concerned about you.” He wanted to look away but was caught in the depths of sapphire eyes and could no longer resist her. 

“Do you concern yourself with all the ladies of the court?”

Jean Armand shook his head, and watched Chloè for any reaction wishing he could read her thoughts, “It is only ever you that I  _ concern _ myself with, my lady.” 

He didn’t know or care who finally closes the space between them. Her lips tasted of sunshine, peace and an indefinable comfort that he hadn’t realized he was missing until now. Chloè innocently opened her mouth and reached up with her free hand to hold his cheek, the touch nearly undid him. 

Jean Armand pulled back to watch her face, her eyes fluttered open, “My lady...” 

“Chloè.” 

“Chloè.” Then she smiled, her true smile - the one she saved for stars and books - and he was lost. He stood and pulled her her from the chair against his chest and kissed her like she was he was a drowning man and she could provide oxygen. 

Chloè pulled away, searching his face with her unreadable dark eyes. She carded her fingers through his hair, a grave gentle sweetness in the motions. “Let me stay.” 

It wasn’t really a question. But Jean Armand nodded anyways.  _ Damn the consequences. _ He made love to her slowly, allowed her time to stop him. To realize her mistake. But she didn’t - she stayed. Her touch was curious and set his skin aflame wherever it wandered. Cool fingers danced across his chest and stomach, setting his heart racing.

Despite never having shared a bed, Jean Armand felt a deep peace, as she settled in next to him. He curled his body around her, relishing the heat of her skin - still pink from his touch. Jean Armand just watched her. Her sleep wasn’t quiet, she twitched, whimpered and he comforted her with a gentleness he didn’t know he possessed. 

As dawn broke over Paris, Jean Armand wondered what exactly he was supposed to do with her now. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. In the End

**HMS Rapier**

**The English Channel**

**One Month Later**

 

The sea spray was frigid but it was easier to be here than in the stale air of the cabin below deck. The day was bright and clear for their crossing, they would be in London by the evening tide and in her new home by the next day, according to her new husband. 

Chloé had known as soon as Jean Armand had returned her to the Louvre that she had to marry and quickly. As much as her heart ached for Jean Armand, he was in no position to have a wife and her father would not ever consent to the match. Her father would have no qualms about exacting his revenge on both of them if she didn’t marry. And she couldn’t allow anything ill to befall her Musketeer. 

The wedding had been small and hasty. Chloé had done as her father wanted and convinced the Earl she was nervous - but excited - for their upcoming nuptials. He had chortled like a kindly grandfather and said that she could have a small and intimate ceremony just as soon as a dress could be procured. 

Until her wedding day, Chloé had returned everynight to Jean Armand. She laughed and loved with everything that she had in her. Collecting every moment of love and tenderness that would have to last her a lifetime. She watched him sleep, gathering every small tiny memory of him. 

Her one regret was that she was too much of a coward to say goodbye. Chloé sent a letter to the garrison. Knowing by the time he received it she would be far out of reach of him doing anything rash. Her foot slipped as a wave crashed over the bow of the boat, she grasped at the splintered rail to stay upright. 

“Steady on there, young one!” A sailor made sure she was safe before shaking his head and complaining about women on boats.

Chloé nodded her thanks and watched as her future drew closer, hand pressed over her very precious cargo that no one could ever know left Paris. 

  
  
  


**The Garrison**

“Mail!” 

Two packets of letters came through the garret door and landed on the worn stone floor. De Foix stood to gather them, Treville knew he was waiting for news about Little Lucie’s croop. Treville busied himself with once again checking his weapons and wondered if Chloé would be visiting tonight. She never sent word, just arrived and Jean Armand would bustle her off to his room to bury himself in her until dawn. 

De Foix cleared his throat and thrust out a small, plain letter. 

“For me?” Treville could not remember a time when he received a letter. The paper was of excellent quality, the letters perfectly formed. 

_ Mon cher Jean Armand, _ __   
_ Au moment où vous lirez ces mots, je serai loin de vous. J'ai épousé le comte et je me rends avec lui en Angleterre aujourd'hui. Mon temps avec vous m'a apporté plus de joie que je n'en avais jamais éprouvé. _ __   
_ Ne doutez jamais de mon amour. Jamais. _ __   
_ Vôtre, _ _   
_ __ Chloé

Treville sat clutching the letter as the sunset and faded to night, finally standing and finding the small silver ring with a piece of colored glass set in it. It was by no means elegant or fine enough for her but it was all he could afford after buying his next commission - one that would allow him to be married and provide for a family. 

Footsteps made him turn, it was de Foix, he hadn’t realized he had left. “Captain wants you. Says your new orders came through?” 

Treville nodded, grabbing his bag and weapons on his way. He turned back to de Foix, “Stay out of trouble, will you?” 

De Foix cracked a smile and embraced him, “Of course, brother. I never cause trouble.”

Treville tried to smile as he walked towards his waiting horse and tried to ignore how hollow his chest felt. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specific thanks again to Tinamour for her help on the final letter. Translation is here:
> 
> Letter in English   
> My dear Jean Armand,  
> As you read these words, I will be far from you. I married the Earl and I go with him to England today. My time with you brought me more joy than I had ever hoped to experience.  
> Never doubt my love. Never.  
> Your,  
> Chloe
> 
> Part II is being worked on... ish... If I ever finish it I will publish it here.

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost a massive thanks to Tinamour! Seriously this would never have seen a document let alone AO3 if it weren't for your positive energy, endless chats and beta work. 
> 
> Second, please forgive any historical inaccuracies I am aware I am playing loosely with the timeline of the creation date of the actual Musketeers. Please be gentle. 
> 
> I have loved this show since I stumbled on it and felt that it deserved some more fiction. I always wanted to know more about the Captain and figured I might as well write some of his backstory myself! There is a part TWO on top of the chapters that this first part has. They are still being written... but they will also be posted here. xx leave a comment or just say hello on Tumblr @greenmountaingirl.


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